


Shine on Him Miss Moon

by ADeadlySheep



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Biting, Blood, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, F/M, Gore, Hallucinations, Horror, Knotting, Psychological Horror, Transformation, Werewolf Sex, Werewolf Transformation, Werewolves, vivid descriptions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-06
Updated: 2019-04-25
Packaged: 2019-11-13 01:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18022616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ADeadlySheep/pseuds/ADeadlySheep
Summary: Arthur Morgan is a lot of things: A man of murder, deception, thieving, but a monster is not one of those things... At least not until he was bitten by one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Song Recommendation: Mr. Sandman - SYML
> 
> A/N: Set in Arthur’s P.O.V. for just this one chapter UwU

He felt warm, weightless as he stood by the porcelain bathtub. Clean water filled it to nearly the brim, bubbles popping away, slowly chipping away from their monstrous mountains on the water's surface. He could see the steam curling above the water's surface, spilling over the smoothly rounded lip of the tub to dust across soft rug under his boots. He stared on at the water, as if he were waiting for something to rise from it or if he were disappointed as someone was supposed to be there. He could smell the soap as clear as day. It was nothing too strong, good on his nostrils, he felt like he could actually breathe for once. Candles were lit around him, their soft amber glows around him only cast dark shadows that flickered with the movement of the many candles circling him. 

He felt... off. He felt like he wasn't himself, but he was just wearing someone else's skin that just so happened to look like him. He felt as though he was drunk, but he didn't feel it sitting heavy in his stomach, warming the place it held with icy chills that would somehow feel comfortable. He didn't feel the sting behind his eyes like he would when he was drunk, nor did he feel dizzy or the world was swaying side to side. He felt a pressure on his chest, as if something were squeezing his shirt tight, but nothing sat on his shirt.

His own shadow was lumbering and tall, standing before him unmoving, looking at the tub before it. The water looked golden, molten almost. The bubbles were shiny, like the coins he would steal often. Something was off about the shadow. He wore no hat nor jacket, and yet they laid on his person, making him feel as though he was suffering in this heat. Just the layers surrounding him made him feel heavy, his jacket like lead and his pants like iron and his boots like cement bricks. He couldn't take anymore.

* * *

 

His hands snatched at his jacket, throwing it carelessly behind him as he toed off his boots, not caring about the mud coating them as he stepped in a muddy bootprint on the soft carpet. He worked on the buttons of his blue button up, thick fingers slipping as the smooth buttons had become slippery from the heated air around him. His shirt clung to his bare skin, peeling it away suddenly brought a sharp chill to crawl up his spine, the man shivered but yanked the shirt out from his trousers and threw it down to the floor with a wet slap. The next was his belt, his hat slipping the top of his head to his bare feet as his fingers fiddled with the clasp of his leather belt. He grew annoyed and anxious, his knees shaking more and more as he couldn't unlatch his belt from his hips until he finally managed to rip it open, pants and belt and guns falling to the ground with his underwear in tow.

With the floorboards under the rug creaking due to his shifting weight, Arthur stumbled over to the bathtub like the drunken bastard he was and gripped smooth curl of the bathtub, his eyes looking down at the clean water full of bright white bubbles. Soft scents of lavender and wildflowers filled his nose, making his heart sing more and more.

Arthur placed a dirty hand in the water, fingertips brushing away a small thin pool of bubbles just enough for him to get a good look at himself. His face was dirty and had blood crusted over his beard and eyebrows and nose. A fight most likely (and even more likely, a fight he won) as he looked down his hand to see bruised knuckles split open (and crusted over with scabs) and crusted with darker blood. His stubble had started to grow into a small beard, something he would have to fix. His hair was messy, greasy with sweat and from being trapped under his hat for so long. It was longer, it needed a trim soon. He would trim it after his bath.

Arthur slowly looked away from the water and carefully lifted a leg over the lip of the tub and groaned when the warm water caressed his throbbing foot, the pain had lifted from his aching body the more he sank said leg further and further down into the water until the bottom of his foot until hit the bottom of the tub. The skin of his leg burned, the long hairs rooted in his skin stung, pulling as they swayed around in the hot water. The water wasn't scalding, but hot enough to start to make his skin turn a soft pink.

With a soft grunt, Arthur heaved his other leg over the side of the tub, carefully sinking his second leg into the water as another soft groan left him, his head tilting back and eyes fluttering softly as his jaw unhinged.

It felt so nice to be standing in a quiet room for once, about to soak in a bath he swore was sent from the heavens.

A sense of longing took over his chest as he slowly gripped both sides of the tub and lowered himself into the heated water. His body tensed when the water kissed his bare ass, a louder groan rattled through his throat as he sank down further and further until he was sitting in the water, leaning against the strangely cold sides of porcelain. They weren't hot like they should be, instead, they were icy cold despite sitting up against hot water.

The soap in the tub seemed to intoxicate him even more, his head lulling over the lip of the tub behind him, a struggled gasp left the man as he eyed the objects behind him and the tub.

A dark oak wooden stool with a leather padded seat, the black leather shiny and beaded with water from the heat that sat heavy in the room. A metal tray sat still, pushing the cushion down. It had rolled up, fluffy white towels that seemed to be new, not a single spec of dirt or mud or grime on them, three of them to be exact. Two weird glass bottles sat uncorked. The first looked to be half full, a thick, opaque liquid the color of lilacs in summer sat in one corner of the tray, the soap most likely. In the other corner, a full bottle of some sort of purple flower sat tall, something written on the bottle in messy handwriting that reminded him of John's awful script. Little lilac petals piled up, stuffing the bottle full.

What was inside of that bottle?

The longer he looked at it, the more his vision swayed until he felt a pang of nausea flutter through his chest and knot at his stomach. He could feel his tongue sitting heavy in the cavity of his mouth, the salty taste of bile clinging to his throat.

He gripped the lips of the tub tightly, eyebrows twitching as his muscles refused to comply. He wanted to stand up, he wanted to investigate.

Had he been poisoned?

A struggled grunt left the man as he barely got his bare asscheeks one, maybe two inches off of the floor of the bathtub before he found himself falling back against the porcelain.

Something was wrong.

Arthur's head curled back, a deep whine leaving his lips as he found his body as heavy as a horse that refused to move no matter it would get kicked in the ribs.

The door suddenly creaked, the wooden floors outside of the door creaking lightly. Arthur's cloudy eyes peered over to the door, noticing the brass knob was slowly turning until it popped open, the hinges squeaking lightly the more it opened until it revealed you.

Arthur's eyes opened wide, his body loosened in the warm soapy water as he watched you with glossy eyes. He was confused, shocked, worried, but most of all... turned on? He felt a tingling sensation in his lower region, a warmth pooling deep in his gut as he found his heart pounding harshly against his ribcage. His vision swayed and he found his mind swimming in the lovely sight of you.

Your skin was practically glowing, your eyes heavy-lidded, irises dark and full of twisting lust. He watched from his place in the bathtub, neck untwisting like a ruined strand of coiled rope, back at ease now that he wasn't all twisted up like a jumbled ball of leather reigns that hadn't been used for years. He laid with his back against the cold porcelain, body still heated by the water that had not cooled off as a note to the steam still curling as it lifted from the water and soap bubbles.

ou slowly stepped around the tub, a soft tune mumbled by your lips, like a lullaby he remembered from his childhood, from the memories he kept locked up tightly with the key gone forever. It was soft, but it still rang in his ears like wedding bells chiming away above a chapel. You stepped along the curve of the bathtub, raising a single hand to dance your fingers along the edge. Your nails scratched against the porcelain, free of the dirt and blood and grime the camp brings onto you, your nails simply clicking away on the hard white lip of the tub.

He watched your hand like a hawk, eyes never leaving your fingers, not for a minute until you stopped on the other side of him. Slowly, he trailed his gaze up the length of your arm to your shoulder, following the curve up to your neck, onto your chin and now your lips painted a devilish red that rivaled the most precious rubies a king could own. Oh, how it sat on you so nicely.

Your hair was tousled, some laying on your shoulders, some sticking to your face thanks to the heat of the room, some covering your eyes just enough for him to imagine what you were thinking as he couldn't see your pupils. You looked prettier than anyone he had ever met, beautiful, god-like. He had a need, a want, a craving to paint your body, make art out of how beautiful you are and display it to everyone in the world.

He was so entranced, captured in your eyes as if they were a snare and he was just some helpless rabbit. He didn't even want to move his eyes to look at the rest of you, but he found himself looking at your blouse that was unbuttoned just enough to show a teasing amount of cleavage as well as a glance of your brassiere. The pants you wore were tight, leaving no curve to the imagination. He swore to himself that your pants were thin because he was convinced he could see your underwear through the material.

You suddenly turned towards the stool in the room that held the tray and snagged one of the towels, the one on top that was the smallest only to unroll it and set it over the other two rolled towels. You reached over to the bottle that sat full of the little lilac petals and plucked a few out before setting the bottle back down on the tray. You picked up the towel you unrolled and turned to Arthur.

Peeking over your shoulder, Arthur spotted the bottle you touch had changed. Not the bottle itself, but the piece of paper on the bottle had changed. The letters once like John's shit script to big bold, black letters that spelled out 'Wolfsbane.'

Wolfsbane? What was that? Some type of flower, Arthur guessed as his attention turned back to you. He watched as you slowly paced towards him, step after step until you were back at the tub. Slowly, you sat down on the lip of the bathtub right next to him and plucked the petals from the towel, simply turning your hand and allowing them to flutter freely down into the water, softly dripping.

The water suddenly started to heat up, boiling almost. Arthur groaned and winced, clawing at the lip of the tub to get out only to find his body screaming in pain. Arthur choked, cried out as he kicked at the tub.

You sank the towel into the water only to hoist it out and slap it against what was exposed of Arthur's chest.

Arthur roared in pain, snatching at your wrist and yanking at your skin to let go. He tried to glare into your eyes, only find the hollow, no emotion in them at all. Your hair dangled in your face, casting it in shadow. Fear shot through him, trickling through his body like icy water, just like before. He watched in horror as you slowly leaned down to his ear, pressure increasing on the towel as Arthur hissed and growled in pain, whimpering and snarling for you to stop until he felt your lips on his ear, still humming until you suddenly stopped.

"Wake up," you whispered.

* * *

 

Arthur suddenly opened his eyes and shot up, a harsh gasp leaving his lips. His heart never beat so fast in his entire life, a steady, constant stream of his heart pounding away under his ribcage faster than his horse could gallop.

Speaking of, his horse cried, the poor thing was freaking out, kicking up clouds of dirt as she continued to cry and snort.

Arthur winced, his back aching from suddenly sitting straight up, but stood anyways. He coughed, his aging eyes squinted as they dashed around his makeshift camp for the night, looking for what could have set her off. She had yet to calm down, only growing more anxious, crying louder.

"Woah now girl," Arthur hushed her as he held up his dry palms to her. His fingers curled around her leather reigns, tugging tightly until she stopped jerking around. Her nostrils were blown wide open, eyes bugged out and frantically searching around for whatever startled her. "What's got you so scared?" Arthur murmured as he studied the horse before him.

He slowly turned his head out to look at the wilderness. Even with a fire going - just barely any flames left, really - he couldn't make out any distinguishing figures besides the trees and patches of wildflowers in the grass. No animals, no men or women on horseback, nothing.

Arthur licked his dry lips and felt his heart pounding away at his chest still.

Something didn't sit right.

Crickets weren't chirping, no deer running through the woods, no wind howling in his ear. It was deathly silent.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck suddenly stand up on end, the sense of being watched washed over him.

"Who's out there?" Arthur shouted, snatching a shotgun from one of the horse's saddlebags and let go of the horse, stomping towards the edge of his small camp. He stared out in the wild, waiting for someone to peak up from the tall grass. No movement, nothing swaying in the absent breeze. It was only him, his horse, and the stars above with the nearly full moon washing over him with pale white light. "Get on up! SHow yerself! I know yer out there!" Arthur boomed, puffing his chest out threateningly. His hands tightened around the shotgun, cocking it and aiming it out into the wild. "Show yer-fucking-self!"

Suddenly, rustling, movement in the tall grass, splitting through as something raced forward. Arthur could hear it snuffling breath as its paws beat into the dirt until it finally broke free from the tall grass. Arthur lowered his shotgun at the sight of a fox scared out of its shit barreling through his camp and running past his frightened horse.

A stillness sat in the air, something that made Arthur Morgan tense as fear and worry started to pool in the pit of his stomach.

That thing that scared off that fox and that thing that is making his horse have a breakdown were still out there. It must be closer than he thought.

Arthur spun on his heel and pocketed his shotgun back into the saddlebag before he tore down his camp as quickly as he could. Rolling up his bedroll, yanking his tent down and ripping the nails out of the dirt, pocketing the items he left strung around the hard floor before finally kicking out the fire and stomping the embers into black nothingness. He sloppily placed everything onto his horse and didn't think twice about hopping on and cracking the reigns.

His horse let out a shrill cry, its hooves digging deep cuts into the dirt as it launched itself forward, barreling through the tall grass. Arthur snatched a pistol from his bag, coiling his back sideways as he pulled back the trigger, eyes searching for the thing.

He could finally hear it now.

Snarling, growling, snuffling, its larger paws striking the earth just like the fox did...

But this was no fox.

It split the grass apart wider, much wider than his own horse was doing, it was big too. Arthur could make out the large curve of its back,  black fur clinging to its large hump of muscle and skin. A wolf maybe?

Arthur's finger itched on the trigger, pulling it down and having his hand recoil as it fired a bullet into the beast. It skid to a stop, quieted down, Arthur watched as it faded in the distance only for it to start come barreling through the grass once more, snarling and growling as it chased his horse by its heels.

Arthur cursed, spit flying from his mouth in microscopic droplets as he whipped his head back to the front. He cracked the reigns once more, his horse crying out and throwing its muscular neck back and letting its long jaws open wide.

Arthur whipped around, raising his arm once more and cocked the gun again, eyes set determined only to soften with horror as the monstrous animal had suddenly disappeared, the tall grass now short and patched with dirt and mud. Wildflowers and weeds and insects, but no dark-furred animal.

Not once did he try to slow his horse from its rampaging sprint, tug on the reigns and stroke at the coarse fur on its thick neck. He could still feel those eyes on him, the hair on the back of his neck as straight as a fucking blade. He could hear it snuffling around, twigs snapping under the pressure of its sheer muscular weight, trees rustling from its vast speed.

Arthur only turned to look over his other shoulder just in time to catch it lunging at him. Bright yellow eyes cutting through the darkness, pupils slit thin like black inked lines.

His finger tightened on the trigger of the gun, his hand recoiling harshly as the beast only opened its jaw wider with a wild whine leaving it. Its sharp teeth glinting in the near full moonlight, its charcoal-like claws slicing easily through the thick hide of his jacket and stiff cotton of his button-up, pushing him off of his horse. Arthur let out a pained scream as his back his the hard dirt ground, feeling those claws sink deep into his skin and the beast's jaws snap closed over his broad shoulder.

It felt like he was set on fire on the inside, he swore he could feel the tickle of the flickering flames dancing in between his muscles and bones, burning him alive. He could barely shout now, sticking to his throat like the thickest marmalade, stopping anything and everything but choked gasps. His shoulder was scorching as if someone were to just shove venom into his skin, straight from the pissed off snake itself.

He couldn't hear anything, everything sounding muffled as if his ears had popped like they do when it gets too cold for his liking. No crickets, no birds, no rustling of leaves and grass nor snapping of twigs and branches. It was still and silent save for his soft choking on his own blood and saliva.

He thought of you, your lips painted ruby red like the blood slowly leaking his wounds. Your words fuzzing his mind, your movements swaying his vision, your scent making his throat tighten.

Would he see you again?

Was this the end of Arthur Morgan?

He didn't feel the beast leave him, only noticing its lumbering form was gone when he looked up at the dark sky. No stars, no clouds, just the nearly full moon teasing him and taunting him, and strangely felt a tug to the sky. His breathing slowed, the corners of his vision fading to black. He felt his chest squeezing, tightening as something just seemed to come alive deep in the darkest corners and cracks of his mind, something primal awakening.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Recommendation: Africa - Wheezer

You found as much busy work as you could. Scrubbing clothes until most of the water ended up outside of the bucket, chopping wood until the Charles had to slip the ax from your shaking hands, rifling through yours and Arthur's things until you were asked something of someone else, mostly Abigal to help with something small and of Jack asking if you could help him find flowers to make more floral jewelry.

And so you sat at one of the small tables with Jack next to you, a pile of wildflowers of varying colors in between the two of you. You found yourself lost in thought as you weaved one more daisy into the chain of other perfectly white daises until you found you could no more. You looked down at the chain between your fingers, bigger than your wrist, but perfect enough for Arthur's.

Arthur.

You instantly found your problem once more. Arthur Morgan, your lover. He hadn't come back in the morning like he had promised, and it was nearing the afternoon. The sun was bright and high, beating on the backs of your necks with her unforgiving heat, but despite it being warm, you felt cold with fear.

* * *

 

Something had happened. Something bad had happened. You just knew it.

"Do you think Uncle Arthur is okay, Aunt (Y/n)?" Jack asked you as he looked at you with those big innocent eyes.

Your heart tugged painfully in your chest. You couldn't look into those big eyes and lie to him. Instead, you looked down at the bracelet you were weaving and sighed softly.

"I can only hope, Jack," you murmured.

"Well," the little boy puffed his chest out confidently, "I think he's alright!"

You watched him pull out a light purple flower, and slowly added it to his chain of colorful wildflowers. But that flower looked off to you, and you swore you could catch its bitter scent from where you were sitting...

You heard hoarse coughs coming from Micah's tent before the flap was thrown open, revealing the ugly truth of what evil does to you. He wiped a rough hand under his nose and spit at the ground before eyeing you noticing you were staring. He threw up his ungroomed brows and sneered.

You could already feel it, the venom that were his words that would poison everyone's ears. Your stomach rumbled with anger, the blood in your veins running hot. Your temper was going to be the better of you.

"Ol' Arthur ain't back yet?" Micah questioned as he slowly waltzed towards you and Jack.

"No," you growled through grit teeth, your eyes burning hotter than fire.

If only looks could kill...

“Arthur’s probably drunk in some back alley,” Micah spat, scuffing the toes of his boots against the dirt floor of the camp. “Typical Morgan, drink himself under the bar and get in a load o’ shit that we have to dig him out of.”

"You don't know anythin' about him!" you spat as you threw the daisy chain against the table, the flowers coming undone.

By that time, Abigal was already dragging Jack away from the table despite his small whines about not being done with his necklace.

“And what about you?” John retorted. "That mouth of yours gets us all in trouble, more times than you can count, you inbred pig."

Micah spat at John’s feet before dropping his cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, stalking away before he caused more trouble than he could handle.

"Do you really think he drank himself under?” you questioned John.

“No, Arthur always takes one of us with him when he does. Mostly Lenny or Charles or you, but he never goes alone unless it's somethin' serious. He woulda told us if he needed to be alone.” John hauled a sack of potatoes over his shoulder and started trekking over to Pearson’s tables full of food. “Somethin’ happened to him out there, but I don’ know what. I just hope nothin’ bad. The man’s been through enough shit.”

You stopped walking beside John and turned back to your tent you shared with Arthur, stopping at the entrance to look over Arthur’s neglected fur roll and clutter next to your fur roll and clutter. You sighed, your eyes lowering as you stepped inside and lowered the flaps of the tent to at least give you just a bit of privacy despite the thin fabric of the tent itself. You passed your bedroll to Arthur’s slowly lowering yourself until you were laying against the fur and cloth that was drowned in his scent: Tobacco and whiskey and sweat filling your nose and making your chest tighten from worry. Your fingers curled around the messy fur, nails plucking and ripping the tangled furs apart absent-mindedly as you focused on what John had said just moments ago.

“Somethin’ happened to him out there, but I don’ know what.”

For once in your time of joining this damned gang, you prayed what Micah had said was actually true. You just hoped that Arthur had drank himself under the bar somewhere and just happened to be alone when it happened.

A startled shout off in the distance caught your attention, the sounds of hooves rushing against dirt and stone only made you sit up faster before rushing out of your tent into the middle of camp where others were gathered.

You spotted Charles with Arthur’s horse in tow behind his own, galloping right into the middle of camp, just barely missing Miss Grimshaw and Dutch. Behind Charles, you saw Arthur slumped over the saddle, arms and legs limp, his clothes a complete torn and bloody mess.

You couldn’t help but whimper, clasping your hand over your mouth to keep the soft sobs in, tears pricking your eyes and threatening to spill.

“What in God’s name happened to him?” Dutch ordered as he helped Charles and Lenny hoist Arthur off of the back of Charles’ horse.

“I found him like this!” Charles fired back, glaring at Dutch who now stood doing nothing as he and Lenny hauled Arthur towards your tent. “Found him in the middle of a field like this, his horse was the one that gave him away!” You rushed to your tent, opening up the flap just enough for the two men to lay Arthur down on his roll. “I didn’t see an animal or man around!”

“You think it was a wolf? Maybe a coyote got to him when he was camping?” Lenny offered as he laid Arthur down on his roll.

The two men backed away from Arthur just enough for you to get a good look at your lover. A small gasp left you, tears now slowly falling down your cheeks as you looked over the man you loved.

Scratches tore his skin all over, purple and yellow bruises kissed his skin, blood crusted over his skin and clothes that were ripped and scratched at. His fingers were scratched up, gunpowder on his fingertips and coating the inside of his nails. He surely didn’t go down without a fight. What drew your attention the most was the large bite mark overlapping his shoulder, going from his right collar bone and hiding behind his back, most likely tearing into the back of his shoulder. The holes were stuffed up and wrapped with cotton cloth, probably a rush job done by Charles upon finding him in the field. His face was battered and beaten, scratched up and bruised from probably being beaten into the ground by the animal that did this. Dirt and dried mud clumped up his hair and stained his skin, blood crusting on his facial hair. Charles must’ve cleaned the gunk and blood from Arthur’s eyes and mouth as they were clean and bare.

“A coyote can’t make a bite that big, neither can a wolf,” Charles stated as he looked at the bite mark. “A bear maybe? But why would it leave him behind and not finish him?”

“Now now,” Dutch tutted, opening up the tent flap, even more, to look in, “let’s give Arthur some room to breathe. (Y/n) may want a moment to look after Arthur, after all.”

Charles and Lenny cleared from the tent, John, Abigal, and Miss Grimshaw right behind them. Hosea, Tilly, and Pearson were trying to peak over everyone’s shoulders, but now being pushed backwards by Dutch until he finally closed the flap. The hot sunlight now covered the two of you, giving you just a bit of privacy.

“Oh Arthur,” you murmured softly. You raised a shaky hand to cup his stubbled face, whimpering and sniffling at the thought of how much pain he must be in right about now. “What did this to you?”

Arthur felt cold beneath your hand, deathly cold, and yet, he was still breaking out in a sweat. His chapped lips parted, his head tilting to nuzzle into your palm, a soft moan escaping his lips until he seemed to still in his roll and unstiffening.

You pulled your hand away from his cheek, pulling away from Arthur to peek outside just in time to see Abigal holding a few spare rags and a bucket of water. Worry was plastered over her face, it was clear anxiety was bubbling inside of her.

“How is he? Did he wake?” she questioned as she handed you the bucket and rags.

“No,” you shook your head. You looked back at Arthur to see him as still and stiff as if he were dead. “What do you think did this?”

“I don’ know. What’s around here? John said it couldn’ be no wolf or coyote… You really think a bear got to him?”

“I don’ know what to believe.”

You entered your tent again, hauling the heavy bucket of water to Arthur and carefully sat down next to him. You carefully took a rag, dipped it in the cold water and dragged it across his skin, scrubbing the blood and dirt off of his skin, carefully cleaning his scratches. Your hands would smooth over his skin and stubble, nails scraping out what the water couldn’t get until his face was as clean as usual. You didn’t bother using the rag for his hair, only dipping your hands in the cold water and slowly combed your nails along his scalp, picking out clumps of dirt and blood from his sandy blond, untangling his hair, the water quickly soaking the torn collar of his button-up and thick hide jacket and the pillow below his head.

You sighed, linking your fingers with his stiff hand, you watched his chest slowly rise and fall, listening to his ragged breathing and soft groaning.

You slowly peeled off his button up, unbuttoning any buttons that got in the way before getting back to work on cleaning up his chest and stomach. Arthur was silent during most of the cleaning, but only when your fingers messed with the flesh around the loosely wrapped bandages did he hiss in pain, gritting and baring his teeth as his hands snatched up bunches of the fur roll beneath him. There were marks on his sides, something must've dug into his hips. Just brushing your fingers over the crusted scabs jostled him slightly, soft growls breaking past his barely parted lips.

You drew the rag away from him in shock, eyebrows throwing up as you whimpered at him in worry, watching as he quickly calmed down and let go of the fur roll.

You eyed the bloody bandages, biting your lip in worry before looking back at his clammy face.

“How is he doing?” Hosea questioned as he eyed you out of the corner of his eye.

“He’s all cleaned up,” you sighed, dumping the dirty water behind a tree and stuffing the rags on the bottom, “the bite mark is still sensitive.” You peeled away the shirt just enough for Hosea to see the marks on his sides, thick dark scabs you had yet to wrap up. "It had to be something big..." you found yourself murmuring.

Hosea helped you out of your tent, and to your shock and surprise, it was near nighttime. There was a cold breeze blowing through camp and you found yourself under the purples and pinks of the setting sun. Stars above and moon fat as round as a silver dollar, shiny like one fresh from the mint just hanging up in the sky without a care.

You felt exhausted, emotionally that is. Your hands ached from rubbing Arthur's skin near raw, grime covering your fingertips. You yourself needed a long soak in some hot water.

“You need to take a break," he advised. "We’ll just get Miss Grimshaw on that after dinner, see what she can do.” You nodded, eyeing the tent nervously. “Go back to him. He needs you.”

“Thank you,” you murmured. You quickly ran off to the tent and throwing open the flap to see Arthur’s eyes slowly open and flutter closed as he groaned in pain. “Arthur, you’re awake!” you gasped.

“Feels like I got dragged by a horse on the railways,” he groaned, pressing his palms to his eyes and rubbing his face, wincing when he tugged on his wounds. “What happened to me?”

“You don’t remember?” Arthur shook his head, eyeing you as he stayed still on the roll. “Charles went out to find you when you didn’ come back to camp last night. Others figured you were drinking alone, but you-”

“I never do that without lettin' you or Dutch know.”

“So Charles went out, found you in the middle of the field with your horse nudging you. You were still bleeding from the bite mark on your shoulder.” Arthur laid still, staring up at the roof of the tent with his sea foam gaze as if he was starting to remember. “Arthur, do you remember what came after you? A wolf? Coyote? A bear?”

“That was no bear,” Arthur murmured.

“What?”

“It wasn’ a bear,” he stated as he heaved himself to sit up straight. He groaned, clawing at his hair and face. “That thing was a monster.”

“Arthur, what was it?”

“It was big, fur as black as night, and…” he seemed to stare off into the distance despite the tent’s cloth blocking his vision, “and these eyes. Yellow, but-but they glew in the night.”

“Arthur,” you calmly whispered as you placed a hand on his shoulder. He jerked away, his eyes wide as the back of his hand cracked yours away. He started panting, shaking, sweating even more. He was looking at you as if you were that beast, scared to shit. “Arthur,” you whimpered, obviously hurt from his denial.

“’m sorry, sweetheart,” he murmured, his shaky hands coming up to cup your face and squeeze your cheeks and trace your cheekbones. “I didn’t mean to do that to you.”

You nodded in his hold but pulled away.

“I should get Dutch, tell him you’re up,” you mumbled.

You didn’t stop to look at him, simply exiting your tent without another word to find the gang leader that so graciously took you in, only to bump into him when you weren’t paying attention.

“(Y/n)!” he smiled, slinging an arm over your shoulders. “Tell me, how’s Arthur doin’?”

* * *

 

It was getting late, you knew you would have to return to your tent pretty soon, but you couldn’t bear to see Arthur the way he was. He looked as though he belonged in one of those mental hospitals. All you heard from your tent all day were his mumblings and ramblings and worrying moans and occasional vomiting.

With the sun setting behind you and moon fat and full slowly climbing into the starry sky, you slowly entered the tent only to gasp, nearly dropping the bowl of soup you had prepared for him.

Arthur was bent at the knee, hunched over on the floor, his large hands clutching his hair and clawing at his scalp as he moaned and groaned in pain of the floor.

“Arthur!” you cried out, placing the bowl of soup down and rushed to his side. Your hands pressed into his back, fingers attempting to rub out the knots and tight spots in his shoulders, palms kneading his newly donned black button up. “Let me see. Did you hit your head? Are you sick?”

“Get back,” he wheezed, sounding as if he had bile still clinging to his lips.

“Arthur, please, tell me what’s wrong. I want to help you, darling.”

You quickly found yourself lying on your back, your skull throbbing and stomach hurting from where Arthur’s hand had forced you back.

“Get back!” he coughed, clawing at the ground. “Get away from me!”

You gasped, clasping a hand over your mouth as you saw Arthur’s eyes, no longer those beautiful dark forest green hues, but now a nauseous shade of bright green that burned your eyes just by looking at them. Those weren’t the eyes of your Arthur, but the eyes of a monster living in his skin.

Arthur lurched forward, pressing his forehead to the floor of the tent and groaned loudly, nails clawing and tearing thin lines into the cotton floor as his legs kicked out from under him, the toes of his boots scraping and scratching against the floor.

You were frozen in place, watching silently and helplessly as Arthur shifted, twitched, twisted, and transformed right in front of your eyes. His body seemed to have swelled with muscle slowly, skin bursting and peeling, the seams of his shirt and pants looking woefully stretched before, one by one, they each started to pop and snap out of place, revealing dark sandy blond hair growing all over his shedding body in thick clumps of strands. He gagged, choked, spat and coughed up more stomach bile, silently screaming and throwing his head back, allowing silent and soft howls of pain to escape his lips as his face started to contort. His head lowered back down, below his shoulders as they cracked like leather reigns in the thin air, snapping out of their sockets and rising in his skin, his spine following not too long after. You could see his ears slowly come to furry points, rising along the sides of his head until it looked as though he was wearing a wolf’s head over his own.

The silence was broken by a series of sharp, bone-chilling cracks in his legs, his boots basically exploding off of his feet to show his feet practically growing into those of a dog’s but much mightier, his nails curling up into sharp black claws as the heels of his feet slowly grew farther away from his toes.

What drew attention to your tent now was the loud snarl leaving Arthur’s lips, your lover turning to face you, revealing his dog-like face to you. He was still covered in his clothes, most of the buttons having popped open to reveal his furry chest, his pants barely hanging on by his woefully stretched belt, his pants tight against his thick legs, seams loose yet tight against the fur and muscle that made up his body.

He looked to be a wolf that was trying to be a man… A monster, straight out of the books.

“Arthur?” you whimpered, hoping your lover was still in there somewhere.

The monster before you snarled, baring its rows of sharp white fangs at you, its eyes only glowing brighter like a burning cigarette. Saliva dripped from his lips as his claws scraped and scratched at the floor of the tent, tearing the cotton-like how he could tear your skin apart at any moment.

The sound of commotion kicked up outside your tent, people calling for both you and Arthur from outside, but none having the courage to open up the tent’s flap to look in until Dutch pulled back the flap suddenly, quickly reeling away and shouting for everyone to flee.

Arthur looked over your shoulder to the woods near the camp, his ears perking up and his lips closing over his fangs. He suddenly growled, then lunged, claws barely missing your shoulder as you screamed and tried to duck out of the way from his large mass.

Your ribs burned on contact with the floor, a soft wheeze leaving your lips as the air had been knocked out of you. You suddenly became aware of how tight your muscles seemed to be, and how much your head stung and your eyes burned from the light of the fire.

You turned over onto your stomach and watched as Arthur ran on his hind legs, jumping effortlessly over the tents on the edge of camp before disappearing into the night.

In all of the chaos that spread throughout the camp, a lone howl rang out, silencing everyone before they turned to you.

“What in God’s name was that thing?” Dutch murmured.

“Arthur,” you whispered, your eyes now on the full moon looming above you all.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Recommendation: Ruins - First Aid Kit

It was deathly silent between the few of you, no words leaving any lips, only the rattling of the wagon and the clopping of the horse hooves. You could sense the tension between you all, it was hot and unbearable like the hot sun beating down your backs. It was thick, unrelenting, horrid, washing you in a wave of nausea the closer the wagon got to camp.

The man in your arms laid still, never once moving unless it was you doing the fixing. You found yourself just beating a dead horse, just dabbing his clammy skin with a damp towel now stained with blood, just brushing it against his skin you had seemed to clean three times over. What was left of his clothing was stretched woefully long, the fabric so thin like petals on a delicate flower, the fabric laid open to reveal his chest hair, now soaked with water drying in the warm sun.

He had not moved since you had found him nearly an hour ago, had not grunted nor groaned as Hosea and Charles hoisted his heavy, limp body from the hard dirt ground surrounded by the gore of several dead animals - now crawling with maggots and coffin flies - and his own shredded skin and clumps of sandy blond fur, had not snapped every time the horses struck the wagon with a hole or dent in the road.

You gazed down at the man in between your legs, head against your stomach and his body splayed out along the rickety old boards that still somehow made it through your journies.

* * *

 

Your chest was wound tighter than any machines you have ever seen before. Your throat felt so dry from this heat, sadness and worry bubbling unsteady in your gut the more you looked at the tattered man lying on top of you.

You were at least a good few minutes away from camp about now. You could do better wonders there.

The rickety, fragile silence was broken when Hosea was the first to speak. You could see out of the corner of your eye his head turning ever so slightly to peer at the two of you, his aging eyebrows scrunching up in worry.

"How is the old boy? Looking better than the dead?" he pressed his lips into a thin, scared smile.

You nodded slightly, knowing the old man was terrified of what may have happened to Arthur if things had gotten worse... It was only a few foxes and deer he killed, at least from the looks of it. You knew he could've made it to town, could have torn through all those innocent people like it was nothing.

"About as good as it could be, Hosea," you rasped as you looked back down at Arthur.

Hosea only hummed before he turned his head back to the front, offering you your privacy back.

You slowly lowered the soiled rag, placing it in the now empty bowl beside you with a wet slop before wiping your hands on the old wood, leaving some small bloody smudges in its wake. You carefully rose a hand to cup at Arthur's prickly cheek, the facial hair now longer than it was last night... before this whole mess happened. Your other hand went to his hair, it was still slightly wet from your small cleaning session as you combed your fingers through the soaked locks of sandy hair. You carefully traced your thumb along his sharp jawline, along with the groove of the sharp bone as you focused on his untwitching eyes.

Your eyes moved just a bit until you noticed his hands, once cupped along his chest as you had linked them together, now laid open and vulnerable. You carefully reached your other hand out from his hair and linked your fingers with his, drawing his arm back by the elbow so you could hold it properly. You pressed a soft kiss to the back of his hand before looking over his features with tired eyes.

"Oh Arthur," you whispered.

"We're almost back," Charles piped up, sparing a glance over his broad shoulder. "It won't be long now."

"He's not awake yet," you spoke clearly, licking your chapped lips as you took quick breaths to steady your fluttering heart. "I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing, being honest right about now."

"He's still Arthur, our Arthur," Hosea quickly chided.

"Some folks back at camp will be quick to shoot that down, especially Micah," you sniffed.

You hated how the tears started to well up in your eyes, burning them as if they were being stabbed with knitting needles. You hated how weak you felt, how stupid you were for letting this happen. The rational part of you chided your being, stating in the deepest corners of your mind that this was not your fault, that you were not there to stop this, that Arthur turning into this... creature was not your doing. You knew it, the voice in your head knew it, it was screaming it in the deepest corners of your mind, but you didn't listen to its echoes. You couldn't help the sniffle nor the warm tears leaking down your cheeks and falling onto Arthur's forehead.

You trembled and shook where you sat, quivering like a child that was in trouble despite there being no danger around.

Worry was the only thing you felt now, fear not one of the few emotions brewing inside of you, nor grief or spite, but only worry.

You worried for Arthur, for his safety, for your safety, for everyone's safety... You worried about the good of the gang.

You slowly tore your gaze away from Arthur's resting form to look at the countryside bustling with the wildlife just now waking up, frolicking around in the warm sun.

Your mind wandered to thoughts of hope, of peace... of just you and Arthur on your own against the world in a cabin somewhere peaceful.

* * *

 

"Careful," you warned as you watched the two hoist Arthur into your tent, now cleaned up from last nights... events. "He's probably still healing from... last night."

You watched as Charles slipped Arthur's dead weight from Hosea, disappearing with your lover behind the flaps of your tent.

You felt a presence behind you, a sense of warm heat looming over you. You could smell his sharp scent of expensive cologne and aftershave and that of a plan always brewing inside of his mind. You turned slowly to face Dutch who was more intent on your tent now housing one unconscious Arthur Morgan. His dark brows were set low and stern, worry did not linger on his face, but you knew Dutch long enough to know he was worried about his golden boy.

"Is he awake?" he was quick to ask you, sparing a glance your way.

"No," you shook your head, backing up to stand next to him, glancing at the tent. "He was like this the whole ride back, like this how we found him too."

"Whatever he is... We can't..." Dutch licked his lips and scoffed. His broad shoulders hunched. "We can't let this happen."

Anger boiled in your gut. You knew what Dutch was saying, Arthur is a threat now. He was a monster, a motherfucking werewolf now, he was a threat to everyone here in camp. You were all thankful that Arthur had not stayed in camp too long, and even luckier that somehow, Jack had not woken up during the whole ordeal. The poor child would have been traumatized if he found out his Uncle Arthur was a monster that could not chase away with just the slash of a lit lantern, a method Arthur himself taught Jack to chase away his nightmares.

It just wasn't fair that this was forced onto Arthur like this. He wasn't cruel or unforgiving like he portrays himself, but a nice man under his thick shell. You knew Arthur would say this was all just karma, that this was his punishment for everything horrible and wrong he had ever done in his life. You knew that a few sharp choices of words would do no good to change his mind so quickly.

Charles had emerged from your tent, shoulders and hands absent of your lover. His dark hair was now a slight mess, but his large, roughened palm brushed back that dark locks. His eyebrows pinched in slight worry, he glanced at you and Dutch as Hosea soon joined your side.

An unsettling silence sat over the four of you, dread looming around you like a thick fog. You all knew the inevitable was going to come out, but none of you knew who would break the ice. Most of the gazes were sent yours and Dutch's ways; You as his lover and Dutch as the leader of the gang. John had stepped into the conversation, worried for his brother-in-arms. He too did not speak, and he too threw glances at mostly you and Dutch as a force of habit whenever the topic of Arthur riled up.

The sudden wheezing cough and snotty sniffle caught you all off guard as he stalked around the three of you. You could feel his ratty eyes burn holes in the back of your neck the more he stared at it until he rounded around Dutch and stood in between him and Charles, Micah lifting a bushy brow as he looked unamused towards your tent before sneering.

"Why is that dog back in this camp?" Micah sneered, drawing his aging lip back to reveal his yellowed teeth of constant cigarette abuse.

"Funny how you talk about yourself like that," John spat, clenching his hands into tight fists.

You couldn't help the smile cracking on your lips at John snapping back.

Micah scoffed while Dutch shook his head in disappointment.

"Now, don't you two start somethin' here," Dutch tutted.

"Well, then I'm sorry for worryin' about my own hide with that thing still here!" Micah growled as he motioned towards your tent.

"He's just apart of this gang as anyone else! He earns more of a keep here than far more than you do," you sneered, backing away from Dutch and standing between Hosea and John now.

Micah laughed, it was airy and carried no other emotion than complete disgust. His brow set low over his yellowed eyes, only darkening the wrinkles bags resting under his old eyes.

"You really think ol' cowpoke is still there, lil' missy?" Micah insulted, puffing out his chest and rolling back his shoulders in an attempt to make you cower and obey him.

"It's still Arthur," you barked.

"And how do you know that? Didn' ya just say he hasn't woken up since last night? When he turned into that beast? Nearly tore us all apart?"

"He didn't do that," Charles butted in, shooting daggers at Micah.

"But what if he did?"

"He didn't do that," Hosea repeated.

"He's nothing but a dangerous animal!"

"And what does that make the rest of us?" John shouted. By now, all of the camp was silent to hear the argument. Abigal struggled to keep Jack distracted while you few raged on. He was never informed on why Uncle Arthur had to be transported back by wagon or why he looked like a mess. "In case yer too stupid to realize it, we're all dangerous here. All of our lives are dangerous because of who we are, because of what we are! Arthur ain't no different!"

"He is more dangerous now," Dutch quietly agreed, crossing his arms as he looked at the ground in thought.

'Fucker,' you thought, scrunching your face in slight discomfort.

"He's just a rabid dog that needs to be put down before he ends up killing one of us."

"And what does that make you?" you spat.

Hosea clamped a steady hand on your shoulder, a telltale sign to stop while you were ahead of yourself.

Charles shot you a worried glance, John eyeing you carefully. Dutch, he was shocked you retorted back so quickly. Micah only continued to look at you as if you were just prey and he was the predator.

Micah's bushy brow twitched in complete anger, nostrils flaring as he glared at you. He looked as if he would stomp over to you and smack you, but he was sadly smarter to refrain as the men surrounding you would put an end to this all. His hands balled tightly at his sides, shaking from how tightly they were clenched. He opened his mouth to most likely threaten you when Dutch stopped him with one powerful glare.

"That's enough," Dutch cut in. He then glared at you. "You as well, (Y/n). We aren't kicking anyone out of this gang, ya hear? Not Arthur and not you, Micah. Now I don' wanna hear another word about this until I think everything through."

'By the time you do manage to figure out a new plan about Arthur's condition, it'll be the next full moon and it won't matter anymore,' you thought to yourself as you glared at Dutch who now stared straight at the tent where Arthur laid.

"We are all in this together. We can't have everyone against each other in this gang. Not a single word from either of you two," Dutch threatened before turning on his heel and marching towards his tent with Micah soon on his heels to return to his own tent.

The hand on your shoulder squeezed tightly in reassurance. You glanced over to Hosea who only gave you a comforting smile and a small nod.

"We'll get through this, kiddo. We always manage to somehow pull through, even when we're shitfaced and jailed up, we always pull through. This..." he glanced at the tent, "Arthur, he'll pull through. He always somehow does. It's Arthur."

You nodded, doing your best to ignore the tightness winding up in your throat the more you paid attention to your surroundings, to the words that just stabbed through you, form how betrayed you felt when Dutch didn't stop Micah from saying all of those things about Arthur.

It just wasn't fair.

"Yeah," you found yourself whimpering.

Hosea gave you one last reassuring pat on the back before heading towards Dutch's tent, to most likely attempt to patch up things from the argument.

John was next to go, as he sent a worried glance over his shoulder to Abigal who was now stuck with a little Jack asking about what was wrong with his Uncle Arthur. The man bit at his lip nervously, dreading the idea of his child being afraid of his brother-in-arms.

"We always pull through," John murmured to himself before walking towards Abigal.

Charles then looked to you from the front of the tent and pressed his lips into a thin line. He was worried about you and Arthur, who couldn't miss it? It was painted all over his face.

"Do you-"

"I'll be fine," you cut him off. "I just... I just need some time alone with him is all."

"I understand," Charles nodded softly, stepping out of the way. "If you need anything, (Y/n), just come find me."

You smiled at his generosity, nodding and walking towards the mouth of the tent.

"Thank you, Charles. I appreciate it."

"Any time."

You watched as Charles walked off before backing up into your tent, making sure the flaps were secured so you could truly be alone in your dim tent.

You were expecting peace and quiet, but you were disturbed by the fact that Arthur was no longer lying down asleep, but now sitting up by the edge of his cot, back turned to you as he was hunched over himself in deep thought.

"Arthur?" you murmured as you stared at his back in shock.

You saw him flinch as your shaky words, back tensing through the loosened shirt. You pressed your lips into a thin line and took a quick, short step forward.

"I..." Arthur let out a breathy sigh, lowering his head even more, tensing his shoulders. "Why?"

"Why what, Arthur?" you flinched at his few choices of words.

"Why did ya bring me back?" he lifted his head.

You could see that his head turned ever so slightly, just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your hastily sewn tent floor. He didn't look at you at all.

"Because Arthur, we had to bring ya home."

Your voice was weak, wobbly, just barely above a whisper. It was like your voice was a baby deer just learning how to walk.

"Why?"

You could sense the anger bubbling in his voice. His back tensed once more, bones popping from the tension.

"Arthur, this is where you're meant to be. This is your home. You belong here, with us."

"Sure don' feel like it now, 'specially last night..."

"You remember what happened last night?"

"Only the beginnin'... I remember the pain, the agony... you..." Arthur let out a breathy chuckle before wiping his large hands across his faces as he gathered his thoughts. "You were so afraid of me, darlin'. I coulda swore I smelled it on you, even now, you smell like yer afraid." He shuffled at the edge of his bed, slowly standing up now, still keeping his back to you. "And I can hear yer heart racing inside of ya, poundin' away..."

"Arthur-"

"I scare ya, don't I?"

He turned fully to face you. Dark bags bunched up under his eyes that were now seemingly a brighter blue-ish green than last night. He was pale, his facial hair longer and scruffier. He gave off the impression that he was seemingly more menacing, muscles set thicker somehow. He looked like he was about to start a bar fight. His brow was set low, casting a shadow on his once joyful, sweet eyes in a trembling darkness.

"Arthur- I- no, I'm not-"

Arthur took one step, a step that basically brought him to you as he now stood in front of you, looming over you like you were his shadow. You felt so small, so weak in his judging gaze.

Arthur growled at your stammering, turning with a short snarl leaving his grit teeth as he stormed to his bed.

"I knew it, I fuckin' knew it," Arthur pressed.

"Arthur, no, listen to me," you pleaded, slowly pacing up behind him until you were able to press your palms into the loose fabric of his woefully stretched shirt. He tensed at your touch but made no move to leave your warm palms. "I love you, I love you, I love you. I'm not afraid of you, I will never be afraid of you Arthur Morgan. I love you too much for one thing to destroy our bond. Now look at me right now, Arthur Morgan or I swear to God."

Arthur slowly turned his head at first, sparring a glance over his shoulder in your direction, eyes winced from his emotions getting the best of him. Then, ever so slowly, he turned his whole body to you. He looked down at you, not with anger and hurt in his eyes, but more of sorrow and fatigue.

He looked exhausted, and you were reminded of how much pressure his body must have gone through with his... transformation. He frowned softly at you, his thick brows furrowed as he looked straight into your eyes.

Your hands were still on his chest, his heart beating away against his bare skin like a steady drum. Your fingers curled around the loose fabric of his ruined shirt, and felt tears starting to prickle at your eyes as if it were dust in a storm.

"I love you, God, I love you so much, (Y/n)," Arthur murmured to you. Arthur's arms quickly wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush up against Arthur's warm body. He pressed his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent before sighing, digging his nose even deeper into your locks. "What am I gonna do now?"

"You're gonna live, thrive, be you," you cooed as you found your face in Arthur's chest.

"How can you love a monster like me?"

"You're not a monster, Arthur. You're the best man I've ever known, so kind and so caring, you do your best and I know you don't want to hurt us now. If anything, Micah's the monster for wanting you shot dead for this."

Arthur chuckled softly before sighing, feeling you rest into him.

Even after being rubbed raw by a bunch of dirty rags and being coated in sweat and blood and gore, Arthur still managed to smell like smoke and mint and all the good things in life. He smelled just the same, like family and hope and... love. Like your Arthur, not some monster that needed to be put down.

"Oh darlin'," he hummed, squeezing you tighter as he pressed a kiss to your head.

"I love you, Arthur Morgan. All of you."

"And I love you."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song Recommendation: Stuck On A Puzzle - Alex Turner

Your eyes slowly blinked open, enjoying the calm environment inside of your darkened tent. It was warm, but a cool breeze blew through the thin opening of the tent. It kissed the skin of your face, the only skin sticking out from your bedroll.

You slowly started to wake up more when you heard the rest of camp bustling around. You also started to slowly notice the heat slowly scattering across the bedroll over onto your side. You looked to Arthur who was on his side, hunched over to curl up inside of himself. The blankets and hides kicked off of him, hair a complete mess, skin pale and sweaty with a slight green hue to it. He was slightly shaking and mumbling under each shiver.

You moved to touch him, but before your fingers could graze his sweating skin, he flinched, body recoiling from your touch.

"Arthur," you whispered.

You only got a groan back from your lover, the man shifting more to his side, nearly rolling off of the bedroll.

You slowly pulled off the blankets and hides, rolled out of the bedrolls and slowly got to your feet, stepping around the bedrolls until you were in front of Arthur.

Your heart sank in your chest at the sight of your lover. His face twisted in pain, chest heaving as he wheezed and huffed to breathe properly. Heavy set bags slept under his eyes, teeth chattering slightly with every heavy exhale, sweat beading at his forehead, dripping down his clammy skin.

"Oh, Arthur," you whispered, slowly kneeling down to your lover. Arthur's eyes squeezed shut for a brief moment before they cracked open. Tired blue hues peered around blindly before looking up to you as if you were his saving grace. His eyes opened wide, he sucked in a deep breath, he made no sound as he stared up at you. "It's that time, isn't it?"

"Full moon," you heard him barely murmur.

"I'll go talk to Dutch."

* * *

 

You stood up and left the tent, closing the flaps and noting that Dutch was outside of his tent, already looking at you with knit eyebrows. He nodded for you to come to him, and so you did.

The trek across camp seemed to last forever as the suspense built up on your shoulders. When you came up to Dutch finally, Hosea and John had joined you on either side.

"How is he?" Dutch questioned softly.

"He doesn't look well. Sickly, just like when we brought him back a month ago."

"Perhaps we should bring him somewhere else," Hosea spoke up, glancing over his shoulder. "The last time he did this, he nearly tore you apart."

John nodded in silent agreement, looking over his shoulder to your tent.

"John, you and Charles take the wagon, find something somewhere and tie him up. An old cabin, a fallen tree, some makeshift hut. Make sure he doesn't get out. We don't know what happened last time."

You nodded silently as well, settling to gnawing at your bottom lip in worry as you stared at the ground.

He's still Arthur, he's still your Arthur. He just... turns into a wolfman every full moon.

"When do we head out?" John questioned.

"Around noon. Alert Charles." You could fee Dutch gaze at you, to which you looked back up at him. "You're not gonna leave him, are you?"

"No. I'm goin', and ya'll can't stop me," you pressed with a determined brow.

Dutch nodded, setting his jaw straight before looking at you.

"Be careful with him."

Your nose twitched in irritation. Dutch was basically acting like Arthur wasn't even the real Arthur anymore, like he was some wild animal you couldn't trust anymore. How could he ever think of his own like that? He practically raised Arthur with Hosea, John too, same with you. Did this curse just wipe away all those years between Arthur and Dutch?

John was taken back a little as well, Hosea only stared at Dutch with an unreadable face (which was strange for the old man).

Your anger simmered though. You knew you had to stay calm for Arthur, for the good of the gang.

"I will."

You turned without another word and left, quickly retreating back to your tent, but not before snatching up a bowl of water and two clean rags as well as a new flask of full whiskey.

Arthur had still not gotten up yet, but he was awake. He was on his back, staring up at the roof of the tent with tired eyes. The blankets had been tugged over his figure, but only covering about the lower half of his sweaty, weakened body. He was breathing deep and slow, taking in gulps of air as he craned his head back, bunching up at his pillow. A needy groan left his quaking lips before he winced, baring them. His large hands snatched up bunches of the blankets and hides, a hiss escaping the minute pockets of his teeth as a growl set heavy in the tent.

You slowly paced yourself up to him, slowly kneeling down to your knees and placed the bowl of water and rags down.

Arthur glanced at you, his beautiful bright eyes now dull with pain, drained of life.

"(Y/n)," he murmured.

"You'll be alright, Arthur. I'll make sure of it, I promise," you shushed him, cracking open the flask of whiskey.

* * *

 

You found yourself sitting in the rickety bed of the wooden wagon once more, but Arthur was not in your lap this time, but instead, he was laying next to you. He slipped in and out of it, eyes struggling to stay open long enough to get a look around only to have them tug down as he was forced back into the cruel world of his mind. You sat next to him, laying on your side while the side of your head pressed against the rickety wooden wall of the wagon. You watched in near silence how Arthur's body seemed to change as the sun started to quickly set into the woods, burning the green leaves orange and the blue water gold.

John and Charles sat high, manning the horses while occasionally taking a glance over their shoulders to look at the two of you. Their brows would always be pinched with worry, calming words and promises of this being over soon wafting through the cool air.

You looked down at Arthur who had once more fell back into a quiet lull, a small groan leaving his parted lips.

You had no idea how much longer you had with him until he turned. Two hours? Three hours? Four?

The wait was agonizing.

You had passed cabins thinking they were empty only to find the owners out back sowing seeds or picking fruit from their trees, the sturdiest trees around were knocked down by some rabid storm, and every cave or large pocket in stone to be home to countless wild animals. You could have sworn John was having a panic attack when he saw a family of wolves snoozing in a cave.

You had been at it since noon, and now the sun was hanging on the horizon. The sky once crystal blue now full of pinks and purples and yellows. The moon in the sky was so clear by now, and Arthur was starting to shift where he laid.

"Let's hope this cabin doesn' have anyone home," Charles murmured, tugging on the reins, slowing the horses.

You peeked over the side of the wagon to see a cabin. It looked old and the windows were covered in dust and dirt. Charles got off and carefully step forward towards the cabin. He turned the knob, and to our surprise, the door popped open. Charles carefully slid inside only to return a few minutes later.

"Well?" John cocked a brow.

"Empty. By my estimate, whoever lived here didn't hesitate to leave. There's stuff there, clothes, pictures, books. There's a cellar too, I put a sturdy chair down there for Arthur."

You nodded slowly and then looked back to Arthur, hoping this truly did go fast and easy.

* * *

 

You nearly hacked your lungs out when you entered the cellar, dust and dirt and the stench of rot attacking your nose and lungs. Barely any light from the dying sun flooded through, shining golden ray through the cracked glass made up at the top of the walls of the cellar.

The cellar had a dirt floor and cobblestone walls, no natural source of light, your only hope to see was the lantern held tightly in your hands.

Your eyes landed on the sturdy chair Charles found. Thick wooden lags and a strong back, a stiff padded cloth cushion waiting. Ropes and chains at in large, loose coils sat on either side of the chair. The rope was new, thick strands weaved together. The chains, however, looked older than you had hoped as some of the iron was rusted.

John and Charles had finally dragged Arthur down into the cellar, hoisting him up by his weakened arms while his legs dragged below him. You stepped back, watching the two as they carefully sat Arthur down on the chair. Charles kept his arms hooked under Arthur's armpits while John carefully wrapped the rope around Arthur's ankles and then snaking the thick rope around his waist before nodding to Charles who let Arthur go. As John coiled the rope around Arthur's forearms, tying them to the armrests, Charles securely tied the ends of the rope and gave one of the knots a test pull, only causing Arthur to snarl suddenly. John coiled away from Arthur, dropping the chains he had picked up to stare at Arthur with shock and worry.

Charles held his hand out for John to hand him the chains.

"See if you can find a spare lock around," Charles instructed as he started to coil the heavy iron chains around Arthur.

John quickly disappeared back upstairs, leaving the three of you.

"You should head back to the wagon... Unless..."

"I'm staying with him," you puffed out your chest.

"Of course. I... understand," Charles murmured as he held the two ends of the chains with one hand. "Just, you know how to handle yourself. Please be careful," Charles winced as he looked to you.

"I promise."

"If he gets out of this before sunrise..."

You both stayed silent as John made his way back downstairs.

He handed Charles a heavy polhem lock, it was old too, older than the chains as the thick heavy iron was more brown and red than gray. With a loud click, the lock slipped from Charles' fingers, hitting Arthur's chest. The man sitting before you only bared his teeth as a snarl slipped from his pulled in lips. You noted that his canines looked sharper than normal, his lower jaw set thicker, setting out in an underbite.

"Go," you ushered them.

"What?" John spat. "Yer not stayin' with him!"

"I'm not leavin' him!" you shouted back.

Arthur moaned, pulling his head back to rest against the top rails of the chair, his throat bobbing. Sweat rolled down his goosefleshed skin.

"We need to go," Charles stated, grabbing hold of John's shoulder.

"Charles-"

"Come on!"

John couldn't protest in time as he was dragged above ground. The cellar doors locked, and you could hear something being jammed through the handles, most likely a metal bar or thick stick.

The sun was going down, you could hear the horses screech at the crack of reins before they raced off back to camp. The golden ray poking through the minute gaps of the shattered glass panes littering the tops of the cobblestone cellar waller had started to fade. From a bright coin-like gold to that of slightly burnt bread to the darkest whiskey, it soon dulled outside to a deep blue, nearly charcoal black. The wind was blowing harshly against the glass panes before you finally made your way to them, just wanting to peek out. You could see the moon hiding behind the dark clouds, slowly peeling away, spilling out a steady ray of moonlight until it had reached the cabin.

You heard Arthur choke, the sturdy chair creaking as it rocked and shook where it sat. Your head snapped in his direction, worry pinching your brows as you pressed your back against the wall of the cellar, you slowly stepped away from the window and quietly stepped along the wall.

Arthur's chin was now pressed against his chest, his shoulders trembling while his nails sank into the thick wood. The chair rocked with every shiver, wood groaning at Arthur's agonizing transformation, rope and chains threatening to give way.

"Arthur," you murmured.

Your heart tugged at your brain and body, yearning to comfort him, to hold him as he convulsed in his bindings, to press comforting kisses to his sweaty forehead, to hold onto his hands as they slowly became hairier no matter the claws.

"G-Go," Arthur warned weakly in a thin voice.

Fangs had now protruded from his gums, saliva breaking off from thin strands in the pale light of a lantern left in the corner.

"'m not leavin' you Arthur," you whimpered.

Your feet quickly carried you over to your lover, your hands going to his tense shoulders now thick with coarse hair and the sheer might of his tensing muscles. Your thumbs dug into the meat of his shoulders, rubbing tight calming circles into the flesh as you pressed cool, longing kisses to his cheekbones and jaw and throat. You shushed him with every whimper, whispered calming words with every pop of bone, cooed at him when his clothes became too tight and tore at the seams.

When Arthur suddenly shouted with the violent crackle of his ribs reforming, you teared up and pressed a hard kiss to the top of his head.

The rope securing his ankles to the legs of the chair creaked threateningly, Arthur's old boots groaned, old scuffed leather quickly breaking apart with ebony black claws. The ropes gave off one more eerie groan before they snapped apart, Arthur's head rolling back as a pitiful cry left his lips. You shushed him softly, kneading his tightening shoulders as the fabric became tight and stiff below your fingers.

"Please," he wheezed, tears beading at his eyelids, yellowing eyes staring at you with a desperate plea.

"I won't leave you. You wouldn't leave me if I was like this," you promised, your own tears spilling down your cheeks.

He winced at your words. You knew you were right, but it didn't quell the tightness in your chest.

The chains and ropes around his chest tightened and stretched painfully as Arthur's bones grew stronger, the ropes tying his arms to the armrests already loose. The chains gave off a shrill clatter, the polhem lock clicking against the iron chains as Arthur's body shook and seized, the chair groaning loudly before you heard the wood splinter wickedly, the backrest completely breaking off from the whole seat, slipping to the ground with a loud clatter.

You backed away out of instinct just a bit, watching the tear on the back of his shirt slowly rip open more, sandy fur growing along his dislocated spine.

You were suddenly forced up against the wall, Arthur now in front of you, towering over you as a snarl was pulled against his face. Yellow eyes narrowed at you, a wolfish face slowly covered with fur.

You choked slightly, the hand on your throat shocking fear through you, but he did not add pressure. You could feel his icy claws at the back of your neck, poking you, telling you not to make the wrong moves.

His other hand slowly rose to snatch at the remaining rope and chains tied around his chest and hanging loosely along his stomach. He grabbed ahold of the polhem lock first, not even struggling to tear it off with nothing more but a sharp crackle, and the rusty old lock shattered in his hand and fell to the floor. The chains loosened on his body with the rope, but as he snatched hold of both restraints, they tore off as if they were cheap clothing before tossing them carelessly to the ground.

His head tilted as he stared at you, eyes narrowing, nose twitching as he smelled you. His other hand slowly rose to your face, claws twitching when they pressed against the soft flesh of your face, a short whimper pressed against your lips. Arthur pushed to your face to the side, lower his hand that was around your neck to your chest, splaying it out to keep you still against the wall. He lowered his nose to your bare throat, the cold sense shocking you. He dug it right into the deepest pockets he could find, snuffling at your scent, growling with pleasure.

He had suddenly pressed himself against you, his crotch pressing into your stomach.

You could feel him through the now stretched thin fabric of his pants, his throbbing member flaring heat against your stomach. It pulsed against you as the stitches in the waistline of his pants slowly popped to accommodate for his body still transforming.

"A-Arthur," you moaned softly. Arthur snapped his jaws, almost asking you to beg him. You tilted your head back as an airy moan left your lips. You had suddenly grown hot, sweat beading at your forehead as you glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. "Arthur."

He pressed his clothed erection closer to you, snarling in your ear as he dragged his hot tongue up the column of your neck to the back of your ear where he bit at the earlobe. He snarled once more before the hand on your chest went to the collar of your dress, hooked his claws into the soft fabric and tore it off your body completely. You gave a strangled moan, your hands flying to his loose, splayed open shirt and grabbing fistfuls of the stretched cotton.

You craved him, you needed him inside of you. It doesn't matter if he were a wolfman or anything else, you would still love him.

He snarled at the sight of you, dropping you to the ground before engulfing your entire body in his warm shadow just by standing over you.

Arthur didn't hesitate to sink his claws into his woefully stretched pants, tossing the ruined fabric away before mounting you, completely ruining your panties and brassiere upon impact, the garments tossed carelessly towards your ruined dress.

You choked out a small groan as Arthur pinned you to the hard dirt floor, yellow eyes lingering on your breasts before he growled lowly.

Then you felt it.

Just the tip tapping at your passageway made you shiver. He was big, bigger than any of the other times he had fucked you. You whimpered once more, wincing, whimpering before crying out at the sudden thrust. Your mouth agape, your head tilted back as a strangled choke was forced out of you.

He filled you so well, the stretch burning like a fire inside of you, the heels of your feet digging into the dirt floor, a wild cry breaking through your lips as your head tilted backwards even more.

He barely gave you any time to adjust to the harsh stretch before he started to thrust, fucking you into the floor as if you were both animals in heat. He was growling with every thrust. He would drag his cock out almost fully out of you before thrusting himself as much as he could back inside the warm depths of your womanhood.

"A-Arthur!" you cried, wincing at the painful stretch.

He was just so big, so thick, so fast, you barely had any time to catch a break before you felt a tightness coil up in your core, tingling as your mind became hazy and eyes blurry. Heat that was once pooled inside of you quickly left your body in a cold sweat as an orgasm ripped through you, tearing you apart as your walls squeezed his thrusting cock. A wail tore its way from your lips, head slapping against the hard floor while tears spilled down your cheeks.

Arthur only snarled, snapping his jaws while his hips somehow started to snap at an impossible speed, a short howl leaving his black lips to show his excitement.

You cried softly, looking at Arthur with blurry eyes, a soft whisper of his name as you clawed at the dirt below you.

It was quick once more, your orgasm had approached faster than anticipated when he finally struck your golden spot. A lewd cry sent you in a frenzy, back arching and limbs feeling like lead, your breasts grazing against the fur spilling out of Arthur's torn shirt, the soft fur doing injustice as the soft strands teased your nipples.

Not long after, Arthur had slowed down just a touch as something was slowly pressing against your nether lips with every thrust, growing bigger and bigger until it had sunk inside of you where Arthur had stopped thrusting.

Warmth gushed inside of you, your eyelids fell heavy and fluttered as you looked up at Arthur who only panted, looking down at you with those yellow eyes, fangs bared, but not to threaten you.

The newly added item had slowly shrunk and Arthur's eyes seemed to brighten just a bit, his lips pulling back to give the illusion that he was smiling.

A wolf smiling sent shivers down your spine as you knew this night was going to be agonizing as it would be long.


End file.
